Veteran
by Punisher Ops
Summary: Punisher hunts down a killer of homeless veterans.
1. Chapter 1

Veteran

Punisher

1

City of New York

Concealed in the nighttime darkness of a nearby alley, Punisher listened in to the NYPD homicide detectives as they discussed the crime scene details – using criminal-confiscated A/V surveillance tech to do so.

The victim was ID'd as Mark Thompson, 36, a homeless decorated combat veteran. After failing to procure long-term stable employment, Thompson was forced to the streets. There was nothing personally remarkable about him other than that.

However, there was some remarkable about him in the sense of sharing a similar fate with two other victims. Like Thompson, the two other men were homeless combat veterans and had been all killed in the past month. NYPD was convinced that there was a clear pattern emerging here – as was Punisher. And being former special forces himself, Punisher was enraged by this. He'd since vowed to hunt the bastard down responsible and dispense justice his way – and save the taxpayers' hard-earned money in the process.

And while it wouldn't bring these poor guys back to life, Punisher thought it might help them rest a little easier.

One of the detectives, Jennifer Cana, was an earned ally of his vigilantism. He was often able to get good info from her on a number of missions and cases. He figured this time would be no different.

He waited for the crime scene investigators to wrap up their business before having the body transported to the coroner for processing.

Observing Cana approach her vehicle, Punisher emerged from the shadows of the alley and caught her attention. Recognizing him, she moved in his direction.

"I thought you might be around," she said.

"Obviously you were right."

"Did you get what you wanted?"

He nodded. "For the most part. Is there anything you didn't cover?"

"No. We still don't have any major leads on who's doing it or why. But I presume you can, right?"

"Maybe. There are a number of underworld info brokers I might be able to get to point me in the right direction."

"Do I want to know how you plan to get them to cooperate?"

"It won't be like that."

"Oh?"

"They've done things, sure, but they're more useful as they are."

"So, you compensate them?"

"Most of the time."

"With the money you take from your targets?"

"It's not my money. Why should I care?"

She grinned and scoffed. "That attitude's what inspired my alliance with you to begin with..."

"I'd better get going. Thanks - as usual..."

He turned to return to the shadows of the alley, when Cana reached forward to take his hand into hers. He stopped, looked down at that, and seeing his reaction, she let go of his hand.

"Castle...Frank – we've known each other for two years now – sharing info just like we've done tonight... You've been infamously at this for nearly five years now...ever since your family..."

He looked away at her saying this.

"...Don't...don't you ever...want to...start over someday...?"

Instead of answering, he started down the alley. Cana paused a moment but then went in after him.

"Wait!"

A building light partly revealed his upper form in the alley to her. He stopped in the light and faced her again.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me and my mission, detective. But you don't know me like you think you do. Not really. I think about my murdered wife, daughter, and son every waking moment of my life. It all seems so long ago that it almost feels like a strange dream now. ...Part of me just wants to put the gun to my head and end it all so that I can be with them again...assuming that's even possible.

"But then I see the others that I might still be able to help – to save – so to prevent their loved ones from turning into me."

"But haven't you done enough already, Frank? Isn't it time to let this city do things for itself?"

"Detective, I'm a soldier, and I only stand down when I can't fight anymore."

She was about to say more but he retreated into the darkness and was gone.

His only thought now - beyond that of his murdered family – was to find this killer of brother soldiers and to put him down for the maggots to feast on.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Punisher's first info broker to pay a visit to was known as Dallas. Dallas was an arms dealer/drug trafficker turned info broker/strip club owner. He ran a sleazy club on the city's south side, and Punisher was pretty sure he would find him there even this very same night.

He approached the club's rear entrance with his black trench coat covering most of his body below the neck. Two of Dallas' goons that doubled as club bouncers spotted Punisher's approach and moved to intercept him.

Seeing this, Punisher opened his jacket to reveal his signature white skull on his chest armor that doubled as both his vigilante ID and eternal warning to the underworld. At the mere sight of this symbol, the thugs grew fearful and stood down.

Walking right between them, he said, "Thanks."

He entered the noisy establishment unchallenged, ascended the stairs to the second floor, and traveled down a smoke filled corridor. From multiple rooms sounds of moaning, groaning, and panting were audible as Punisher made his way to the opposite end of the corridor without incident.

He stopped at a closed door, hearing both a man and a woman moaning from beyond it, along with a loudly, rhythmically creaking bed to accompany their sounds. The moaning male was definitely Dallas.

Punisher knocked twice.

"Go away, asshole," said Dallas between moans.

The door was locked...but not for much longer.

Punisher front kicked the door with a steel-toed boot, shattered the door, and entered.

The naked Dallas and his similarly straddling whore cried out in bed at the forced entry.

Stoned, Dallas' focused through slurred curses while the screaming prostitute dismounted from her likely employer and client both. The criminal reached underneath a pillow for a sidearm but Punisher already had one out and aimed at Dallas' head.

Dallas saw that this (for the moment) unrecognizable man had him beat, and ceased reaching for his weapon. Trying to focus, he held his hands up in the air and chuckled.

"Heh. Whatever it is, friend, I'm sure we can work this out..."

Punisher opened his trench coat to expose the white skull. "Look harder, dumbass."

Dallas zeroed in on the white skull, frowned...and then gasped with recognition – and fear. "Oh, god..."

Looking at the hooker, Punisher said, "Get out."

Donning one of Dallas' T-shirts, the hooker swiftly complied. When she shut the door behind her, Punisher said, "I need information."

"I, uh, can't help you..."

Punisher audibly pulled back the hammer to the modified pistol...

"All right, all right – you win."

Punisher then released the hammer, lowered the weapon, and kept it by his side. "I'm not here to kill you, Dallas."

"You're...not?"

"No. I needed to break through the high you're on to get you to think. I need info."

"Man, I don't do that anymore. It's illegal..."

Punisher scoffed and looked around. "Really?"

"This setup's different, man."

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

Standing from his bed, Dallas donned a robe and tied it at the waist.

"I'm paid up with the right people to run this little outfit. You know how long I've wanted my own joint, Castle. Your paying me helped get me this place to begin with..."

"Don't remind me."

Dallas scoffed, reached for a cigarette, and lit it up. "You did it as an investment, because despite all your badass skills you still need someone like me to get you info when you need it...like now."

"Are you going to make this difficult?"

"Not for you, Frankie, no. 'Cause you and I go back a ways and because we're so tight...I'll only ask for ten percent extra."

"Deal."

Dallas was surprised. "Really? That was quick. What's the occasion?"

Punisher gave him the synopsis.

"Oh, I see." Dallas studied Punisher. "Yeah...I get it now. You being ex-mil and all this has really got you chompin' at the bit more than usual, don't it?"

Punisher was silent.

"I'll do what I can..."

"I'll give you twenty percent."

Dallas' eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"Aren't I always?"

"You...got a good point there. Consider it done."

"How long?"

"I'll need to make some calls..."

Punisher growled. "How - long?"

"I should know something by morning, man, I swear."

Punisher secured his weapon. "I'm holding you to that."

Dallas could hear the sincerity in his words. It had always been there before...but Dallas swore he heard something...extra this time. Punisher wasn't screwing around – not that he ever did. And he always kept his word about paying him. It was at times like this that criminals like Dallas that were on "good" terms with a man greatly feared by the underworld were also greatly puzzled by him. Here it was that a man that so hated Dallas' kind was willing to even breathe same the air as him yet at the same time would put a bullet in his head if he went too far the "wrong" way. Yet Dallas' underworld clients would do the same to him anyway if he betrayed them.

The question that often occupied criminals' minds like Dallas that sometimes dealt with the Punisher was what differentiated the Punisher from the criminals that he so mercilessly hunted?

To date, no one, including Dallas, had come up with a fitting answer to that question. He didn't know if anyone could – including the Punisher (assuming Punisher even wanted to).

All Dallas did know for a fact was what could happen if he didn't come through for the very dangerous man. Even before Punisher had closed his room door after him, Dallas had reached for his phone with surprising clear-headedness and started making calls.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Punisher safe house

Letting his bathroom sink run, Punisher looked in the mirror – particularly at his muscled torso and arms. Much of it was covered in scars – both from military and vigilante activities. But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized that the majority of his wounds had come from the latter. He'd also been more reckless as a vigilante than he'd ever had as a military professional.

And it sparked a question in his mind – Did he have a death wish as much as had a desire for vengeance? Did one truly outweigh the other, perhaps?

He didn't have an answer for those questions either.

Bending over, he cupped his hands, filled them with water, and then splashed it on his face. He did this several times, exhaling deeply as he did so. On the third splash, his cell rang. He shut the water off, straightened, reached for a towel to dry his hands, looked at his body and face in the mirror one last time before exiting the bathroom to answer the phone.

"Frankie, boy, you there, man?" said Dallas at his answering the phone but not speaking at all. "...Frankie...?"

"What?"

"There you are..."

"What have you got?"

"A lead..."

"It had better be a good one..."

"I think it is, man. I think it is. There's this dude named Phalen..."

"P, H, Phalen?"

"Yeah. How...?"

"I've had him under surveillance in the past – black market?"

"The same."

"How does he connect to this case?"

"Well, from what you told me, these bums..."

"Veterans," he corrected firmly.

"...Veterans...yeah, okay – they were all killed by an unknown aerosol delivery system, right?"

"That's right."

"Well, my sources confirm that not only has this Phalen been selling this very type of equipment to a certain customer, but that this same customer has paid out the ass to get it, 'cause only Phalen can get it into the city, it seems."

"Do you have an address?"

"I do, brother. Ready?"

Dallas conveyed it; Punisher burned it into his memory.

"Good work – and well before daybreak."

"...Aren't you going to question the reliability of my sources?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because you've always come through in the past. That's good enough for me."

"...Is that...an actual compliment from the Punisher himself that I'm hearing being uttered...? I don't know what to say..."

"Nothing needs to be said. I still need to confirm this before you get your cut."

"I understand. ...Aren't you even going to warn me to not let this go to my head?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you already said it."

Dallas laughed. "That's good, man. Witty to the last, I see. And here people always say you're the humorless grim reaper. I don't buy it."

"Dallas?"

"Yeah, Frank-O?"

"Hang up."

"Right."

Punisher readied to "meet" Phalen.

XXX

Phalen hideout

At first glance, Punisher could definitely see that Phalen was moving up in the business underworld. When he'd had him under surveillance two years ago, he was running his black market out of the back of a van. Now he had a medium warehouse and a number of sentries to protect his numerous crime investments.

Parking his stolen car half a block from the warehouse front, Punisher exited with his heavy assault rifle with grenade launcher attached in his hands and ready.

He opted for a traditional yet ballsy frontal assault.

The guards saw this – along with his chest positioned white skull and heavy mil spec weapon in his hands – and panicked.

Their natural fear, which always caused them to hesitate, gave Punisher his moment to hit first.

Expecting auto fire, the Phalen thugs received something else instead – a grenade.

Punisher shot it to land right in the middle of the front sentries. They looked down at the frag but didn't get to do much else after a few seconds.

They screamed as frag fire enveloped them, burning them to a crisp.

Punisher gave a small chuckle and scoff at their collective incineration and stepped over their burning corpses – or rather what remained of them.

Shouts of alarm were detectable as the Phalen thugs prepared to repel this surprise attack.

One of the thugs spotted him from a warehouse window, panicked, and said, "Jesus H. Christ. It's that freaking Punisher bastard!"

Punisher aimed his rifle and fired another grenade right at him. The thug's scream was brief as the frag's incendiary component did its job.

Sensing the sentries rallying to repel this sudden and random assault, Punisher took cover behind a vehicle, using the front tire section for added cover from low shooters. He switched to bullets, limited auto fire, and then came up to engage the enemy.

Three rallying thugs were killed swift by his initial fire. The criminal remainder returned fire but Punisher was already behind cover again. As they sought to spread out and flank him, Punisher moved out low for the rear tire section of the same vehicle, came out from the rear and resumed firing in controlled bursts. It was readily apparent as he killed thug after thug that this group of Phalen's were petty street thugs trying to pass themselves off as something more but definitely were not.

Again, the crime group returned fire, but Punisher had already returned to cover, this time dropping prone by the inner section of the rear tire, and fired from beneath the vehicle. Thugs cried and screamed out as he dropped them with ease - so much so that he lost his current kill count.

Only a few thugs appeared to be left by the time Punisher emptied his first mag. He reloaded, swept/cleared the area from cover, and then advanced on the warehouse proper. He heard a few interior shouts as he did so, but no more. They were also likely continuing to pull back to a strong point to make one last push at him.

Arriving at the locked front doors, he shot a grenade at them. They exploded inward on impact, sending fire and superheated shrapnel in all similar directions. Men screamed immediately beyond, suggesting to Punisher that a couple of idiots had tried to ambush him just behind the front doors.

They wouldn't be doing that anymore.

Securing his rifle against tactical vest, Punisher drew his sidearm for tighter, defensive firing, and entered the warehouse proper.

It was a dark, semi-open interior beyond, but he was able to clear it and advance to new cover in short order.

Again, he heard shouts, but from deeper inside. Leaving that bit of cover, Punisher advanced – encountering no new threats in the process.

Reaching a wall, Punisher hugged it and listened, pistol held low in both hands. It was quiet ahead. Phalen could have tried to escape, but that would make him both weak and broke to his fellow underworld affiliates. He had to stay to protect his merchandise and if he were to kill the Punisher he would be famous.

Those motives were exactly what Punisher was hoping for from Phalen.

Punisher sensed an ambush, went around the wall, and dove straight for the floor covered in darkness ahead. As anticipated, chest-level auto gunfire sounded from several surrounding dark positions. Finding low cover by its silhouette in the dim lighting, Punisher waited...

When they ceased firing to locate him in the darkness, he came up from cover, sighted in on the first thug with natural night vision alone, and put two rounds into his head.

The other auto gunman cursed at Punisher's seemingly unnatural ferocity, but didn't realize he'd further given away his position.

As that thug turned his head in Punisher's general direction, he saw the shadowed form of a man – but only for a split-second – before two rounds penetrated his cranium to render him maggot meat.

"Goddamn," said a man from a lit office area further back.

It sounded like Phalen to Punisher.

Punisher advanced; cover to cover.

As he drew nigh of the closed office door, he heard a shotgun being readied for action. Punisher made a few deliberate loud footfalls before falling prone before the door.

Two shotgun blasts blew the central portion of the door away where indeed Phalen thought Punisher should have been.

After the second shot, and with a huge hole in the door for Punisher to see through, Punisher moved up to a crouch, sighted in for Phalen's gun arm shoulder and fired a single round. Phalen cried out at the bullet entering his flesh and dropped the shotgun to the floor. Punisher entered.

"You son of a bitch. You'll pay for this. I swear it."

"Now, now – no swearing, Mr. Phalen. We need to have a little chat."

"Like hell."

Phalen drew a knife and lunged at Punisher to stab him in the chest.

Punisher martially deflected the knife strike with his free hand, flipped his pistol around in the other, and struck Phalen hard across the face with the handle portion of it. Phalen dropped the knife and fell to his hands and knees, spitting blood and teeth onto the ground. Punisher retrieved the knife and secured his sidearm.

He studied the knife, nodding with approval. "Not bad. Needs to be sharpened though – don't you think?"

Pissed, Phalen tried to tackle Punisher at the waist, but Punisher had already sidestepped him, hand chopped him at the base of his neck to force him to stumble, grabbed his wrist, pulled back on Phalen via his arm, and then applied his knee to the center of Phalen's back to smash Phalen facedown to the ground.

Pinning the thug down with a knee across his neck and the other across his middle back, Punisher then outstretched the thug's gun hand before then stabbing his own knife through its center and into the soft wooden flooring to help keep it there. Phalen howled.

"You know why I'm here..."

"I – I don't. I swear..."

"What did I say about swearing?"

Punisher gripped Phalen's gun hand thumb – and snapped it. Phalen screamed.

"You've got plenty of fingers left to work with – along with kneecaps. Choice is yours..."

Phalen grunted and groaned, but said nothing.

"All righty then..."

Punisher reached for his index finger next...

"All right. All right – stop."

"A name – something – now."

"Who? I have – lots of clients..."

"Aerosol delivery system – ring a bell...?"

"Hell, no."

"I see."

Punisher removed a combat switchblade from his vest – and clicked the blade out.

Phalen tensed. "What – what are you doing?"

"I can tell when someone's bullshitting me. This is one of those times. Now talk..." Punisher put a small cut into Phalen's cheek with the switchblade "...or your problems are going to mount exponentially. And as you can tell, this knife isn't dull." Punisher held it before his eyes.

"All right – you win. It was some white dude – ex mil – by the look of him..."

"How's that?"

"He had – mil tats on his arms. Ranger, airborne shit like that."

Punisher put the knife behind an ear of Phalen's. "You'd better not be lying..."

"I'm not. I...mean it."

"Good. No swearing. That's a start."

"He didn't use a name or an alias. But he paid damn good – more than I asked for even."

"Cash or electronic?"

"Electronic. It went through just fine."

Punisher spotted a nearby laptop. "You do your so-called business on that computer?"

"Yeah. It's encrypted. You can't..."

"Won't be a problem."

"But..."

Punisher knee smashed Phalen's head against the floor to knock him out.

While tempted to kill the bastard and rig the warehouse with charges to send all the illegal shit burning sky high, Punisher rather chose to send an anonymous text to NYPD for them to get over there and secure the scene.

Gathering up the laptop, Punisher removed a white skull calling card from a vest pocket, dropped it atop Phalen's back, and departed.


	4. Chapter 4

4

In his vehicle and some distance away from Phalen's warehouse, Punisher hacked Phalen's laptop upon finding there was enough battery power to do so. He entered the thug's records with little difficulty – despite Phalen's assertion to the contrary.

And within minutes of that, he was accessing Phalen's financial/business records. His records were methodical – which Punisher was grateful for. Phalen even had his sales listed by particular product and account number. Punisher found the aerosol delivery system that the killer had used on the veterans, and investigated the bank account number.

His wireless internet search came back with a near immediate match. Not only that, but the bank in question was familiar to him. It was on the north side of town – and it was mob owned/operated.

Leaning back in his driver seat and exhaling, Punisher disabled the criminal laptop and thought further on the situation.

His modified smartphone vibrated from a jacket pocket. Withdrawing it, he found that Det. Cana had sent him a text update. It stated that NYPD had apprehended a perp that was the likely suspect in the veterans' murders. It was a Middle Eastern male with suspected ties to an al-Qaeda offshoot group.

Given what he had just learned from Phalen seemed to invalidate that. He could safely contact Cana if he so wanted but chose to wait for the time being. Dawn wasn't too far ahead and he wanted to check out this bank during business hours to see what greater insights he might be able to gather. He would also go in disguise.

Starting his car's engine, he drove off for his closest safe house to prepare for a daytime op.

XXX

After getting some shuteye and preparing his disguise, Punisher headed out for that target bank. He also brought some hacker tech him in case he could use it. Sporting a suit/tie, fake goatee, contact lenses, and variant hairstyle, Punisher easily altered his globally wanted appearance.

Frank entered the bank without difficulty. He appeared as though he wanted to open an account. He approached one of the tellers for information. They in turn were willing to direct him to a banker to do just that. He politely declined, accepted the general information, and discreetly took into account the entire layout around him. The mob's protective muscle in the bank was obvious to him but subtle to untrained eyes.

And as he'd suspected, he'd need to wait until nighttime to make a proper infiltration to hack the murderer's account.

Satisfied for the time being, Frank exited the bank.

His smartphone vibrated. He took it out. There was a text message waiting for him.

I KNOW YOU'RE LOOKING FOR ME, the message read. BUT DON'T WORRY, BROTHER SOLDIER, ALL WILL BE RIGHT AGAIN SOON ENOUGH.

Frank replied, WHO IS THIS?

DOES IT MATTER?

Frank: YOU'VE BEEN MURDERING MEN WHO SERVED THEIR COUNTRY WITH DISTINCTION – WITH HONOR. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?

Killer: BECAUSE LIKE THEM – LIKE YOU – I TOO ONCE UPON A TIME THOUGHT I WAS DOING THE RIGHT THING. I SAW THE TOWERS BURNNING – I SAW THE PEOPLE JUMP TO THEIR DEATHS RATHER THAN BE BURNED ALIVE IN THEM FROM THE JET FUELED INFERNOES.

IT ENRAGED ME – IT STILL ENRAGES ME. LIKE YOU, CASTLE, I'M A NEW YORKER. WHEN THOSE TOWERS CAME DOWN...I WANTED REVENGE.

Frank: IT WAS 9/11. MANY PEOPLE DID...

WRONG – MANY STILL DO – JUST NOT IN THE WAY YOU MAY THINK...

SO WHAT DOES KILLING OUR OWN GUYS HAVE TO DO WITH ANY OF THAT?

BECAUSE THEY ARE THE CORPOREAL EXTENSION OF OUR OWN NATION'S HYPROCRISY. ...YOU DON'T SEE IT THOUGH, DO YOU, CASTLE? YOU KNOW...I HEARD ABOUT HOW YOU GOT THE MEDAL OF HONOR – ABOUT HOW YOU DISOBEYED ORDERS TO DEFEND THAT AFGHAN VILLAGE OF WOMEN, ELDERLY, AND CHILDREN FROM INSURGENTS ALL BY YOURSELF.

DO YOU THINK THOSE TREACHEROUS VILAGERS – OR OUR OWN GODDAMN CORRUPT GOVERNMENT – REALLY CARES ABOUT ANY OF THAT? HUH?

Frank: I DID IT BECAUSE I BELIEVED IN PROTECTING INNOCENT LIFE.

Killer: DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH. THERE ARE NO INNOCENT OR GUILTY PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD, CASTLE. THERE ARE JUST PEOPLE, PLAYING THEIR USUAL FREAKING MIND GAMES WITH EACH OTHER TO STAY ON TOP.

MIND GAMING IS WHAT DEFINES HUMANITY BEST. IT ALWAYS WILL.

Frank: I WILL FIND YOU...

YOU WON'T HAVE TO WAIT TOO LONG FOR THAT WISH'S FULFILLMENT. AND, OH, BY THE WAY – YOUR EVER USEFUL INFORMANT DALLAS...YOU WON'T BE NEEDING HIS SERVICES ANYMORE...

Frank's anger almost overcame him. He nearly crushed the phone in his bare hands...

Another message arrived – forcing him to stop...

OH, AND I'LL SAVE YOU THE TROUBLE OF TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM. MY NAME IS – WAS - MAJOR JONATHAN DUNCAN...

Duncan's text trail off was deliberate, and Frank instantly knew why. It was because he knew exactly who he was. They'd met several times in the past, but only briefly. Duncan, like Frank, was a Medal of Honor winner, and had been a damned fine Delta Force member before allegedly dying on a high-risk mission in Indonesia to root out Islamist terror elements there.

It now seemed clear to Frank that obviously wasn't the case, and that Duncan was on a new mission – a mission of psychosis-driven revenge against the very people he'd once sworn to defend.

Another message arrived.

JUST THINK OF IT, CASTLE – TWO MEDAL OF HONOR WINNERS ABOUT TO FIGHT FOR THE VERY SOUL OF THIS CITY WHERE THAT DARK DAY OCCURRED AND CHANGED HISTORY FOREVER.

ARE YOU READY? BECAUSE IT'S GOING TO BE THE MAIN EVENT... STARTING – RIGHT – NOW...

From behind Frank, the interior of the mob bank exploded.

The people inside were incinerated instantly while Frank was thrown to the ground and knocked unconscious from the impact. From within the other parts of the bank, Duncan's well-placed army grade explosives detonated.

Half the building was taken in hellfire as debris and shrapnel were sent flying in all directions. Civilians were injured or killed on the streets around the bank.

Pandemonium and chaos followed, as the raging fires sent thick black smoke up into the clear sky. Sirens were soon heard upon the air.

For Duncan, this was only the beginning. As for the pretty detective that carried a burning though unrequited torch for her Punisher, Duncan had plans for that situation too.


	5. Chapter 5

5

As Frank returned to consciousness, the chaos and carnage of the rogue Delta's psychotic actions did so as well. Groaning, Frank coughed and gagged as smoke and debris obstructed his airway. Rolling onto his side, a sharp pain traveled through his left leg. Looking down at it, he found that a piece of jagged metal shrapnel had pierced the side upper portion of it. He gripped the still warm metal and pulled gently on it. The pain was intense. He left it there.

The moans of other people, likely victims of the bombing, greeted his ears. He also heard barking dogs along with directional shouts, likely those of the rescuers, as they combed through the rubble for survivors.

Checking his facial disguise, he found that it was still adequately intact.

"Frank...?"

He turned in the speaker's direction to see Detective Cana observing him, wearing her NYPD jacket.

He groaned as he tried to stand up. Cana moved through the rubble to help him.

"Disguise didn't fool you?"

She scoffed. "Not in the slightest." She looked down once she'd helped him to stand – and took notice of the shrapnel protruding from his leg. "Jesus, Frank..."

He put a hand over hers and shook his head. "You know how I have to do this."

"But infection - tetanus..."

"Cana..."

She gave him a hard look of disliking his refusal to get medical aid.

"It's hardly the first time..."

"What's your point...?"

"I..."

"I'm going to help you with this – do you understand me?"

"I don't want your help."

Cana wouldn't give in to him. "If you don't let me help you...I'm turning you in right here, right now. Your call."

"You wouldn't."

Cana held her police radio to her lips...

"Fine. You win."

"That's what I thought. Let's go to your base – wherever that is right now."

Frank surveyed the devastation. "What about this?"

"It's under control. Come on. I'm driving."

XXX

Ten minutes later at his base, Frank let Cana assist with treating his wound. Together, they pulled out the metal fragment and tag teamed caring for it properly. Fortunately, Frank was fully stocked with the best medical equipment.

They didn't really talk about what was going on until she was bandaging the wound.

Frank initiated that bit of business. "How'd you know I'd be at that bank?"

She shook her head. "I didn't. ...What were you doing there – and in that getup for?"

"Following a lead."

"Mm. Find anything?"

"Yeah – but it also found me too."

"What do you mean?"

"NYPD thinks that al-Qaeda perp is behind these homeless veteran murders..."

"That's right."

"It's not – not this time."

He elaborated – and showed her the text message exchange between him and Duncan.

"Holy shit," she said, after reading the exchange. "This guy was a Delta?"

Frank nodded, stood, stretched his wounded leg, and slowly walked around the room. "Yeah, and a damned good one too at one time."

"Were you war buddies or something like that?"

"No. We knew of each other mainly from reputation, and an occasional joint op."

"What happened to him?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."

"It sounds like that bank bombing was just the beginning."

"It was. He wants to make a spectacle out of it."

"Because of his...disillusionment with this country and the world?"

"Something like that."

"And he's fixating all of this on you?"

"Seems that way."

"Why? Why spare you and not those other vets?"

"I don't know."

Cana pondered the situation. "I wonder if they had some connection to him – if they'd served together or something."

"Maybe. I do know that his last official op was neutralizing terror elements in Indonesia. He was allegedly killed there before resurfacing."

"Killed there?"

"Yeah."

"Well that suggests something much different – much worse – happened."

"Agreed."

"But if he's Delta I'm not going to be able to do much for this investigation. All their missions are classified and the feds will take over the case rather than let us handle it."

"I might be able to get answers."

"You still have cooperative sources in the military?"

"A few. Some owe me."

"It's time to collect then."

"They'd do it readily knowing that fellow vets are being murdered."

"Frank – I want to help you with this, okay?"

He nodded – to her surprise. He noticed it. "What?"

"It's just...I didn't think you'd agree so readily – being a loner and all..."

"Detective – Jennifer..." That put a small smile on her face. "This guy has skill sets..."

"So do you."

"He won the Medal of Honor. That means this guy's been to hell and back."

"It sounds like he never left it to me."

"True. ...What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to need help with him..."

"Wow. I might die of shock."

He looked down at the floor. "Jennifer..."

"Don't say anything more. You've surprised me more in the last two minutes than in the past two years. Don't overwhelm me now."

He smiled at her; she gave a small gasp.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He sobered. "I think that this guy wants a final showdown with me, and this is the lead up to it."

She nodded. "Hence, the 'main event' reference."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to kill him?"

Strangely, Frank didn't readily answer. He looked away in thought on that.

"Is it because he's a soldier like you?"

Frank nodded slowly. "Maybe. Whatever happened to him...I think he was a casualty – a casualty of war."

"Were you one too?"

"All soldiers are. Be it 'Nam, Afghanistan, volunteer, drafted, survivor, whatever, all soldiers are casualties of war."

"Why?"

"Because you never return home the same. Most of us are young when we go. We then see the worst of human nature, both in ourselves and in others, and that changes you in ways you can't imagine."

"Is it only the worst of human nature that you see in war?"

"Not always, but often."

"But wasn't this guy already a veteran soldier before this happened to him?"

"Experience doesn't really matter with something like this. Even the greatest can fall – and sometimes do."

He picked up a sidearm and looked at it.

"Even if Duncan falls – I intend to make sure he's buried with honor – alongside the guys he's killed already."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Why?"

"Because no matter what's become of him, of me, we're still brothers."

"Frank...that sounds crazy."

"Maybe it does – maybe it is. But what was ever sane about this world to begin with?"

"Fair point. ...Promise me something..."

"If I can, I will."

"Don't try to get yourself killed..."

He looked down.

"Is that...what your family would want of you...?"

Frank shook his head. "No. They'd want me to live on."

"Then don't you think you should?"

"I do."

She nodded. "Then let's lock and load and bring this guy down, in, or however you want to look at it."

Looking at the pistol in his hands, he gave it to her. "Follow me."

He took her to his armory – which made NYPD's look like a bad joke by comparison.

She shook her head in wonder and puzzlement. "Some of these guns I've never even seen before, let alone know how to use."

"That's also because they aren't the same as before."

He reached for one hybrid assault rifle and inspected it.

"What do you mean?"

"Some of these have extensive modifications that make them unique on earth. In essence, they're prototypical."

"Like reinventing the wheel or something?"

"Close enough. They've been so modified that original model designations and design specifications become irrelevant. It all helps to keep the enemy off-balance."

She spotted a sheathed katana hanging on a wall. "A samurai sword? Are you serious?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Where did you get that from?"

"...I made it."

"Are you kidding?"

"No."

"So, are you a samurai too or something?"

"Secretly, yes, and a ninja too."

"How's that?"

"When I deserted and went underground I trained with world experts to expand my skill sets."

"So, you're a comprehensive weapons master, then?"

"I suppose. Thugs only expect you to use modern weapons – not ancient weapons. But in the history of man older style weapons were used for war long before guns were and for much longer by comparison."

"I never took you for being nostalgic."

"Call it martial flexibility."

"Does Duncan have this kind of training too?"

"The mil training, yes, but the ancient arts? Don't know. I'm sure we'll find out though."

"Yeah."

They armed up for battle – while Duncan did similar from his base.


	6. Chapter 6

6

The first place Cana and Frank went after arming up was Dallas' joint.

It was a massacre.

NYPD had already secured the strip joint and moved the bodies out for processing. The report stated that twenty persons had been in the club at the time Duncan had hit it.

Entering the empty building where the entire premises was considered a crime scene, Frank and Cana took in the residual carnage that remained behind. Mostly dried gore and blood still adorned the walls and floor of the club, as did the head level bullet rounds in the club's walls.

"I'm sorry, Frank."

"So am I. Dallas was no saint, but he didn't deserve this. ...If he'd survived this, and his info had checked out, I would have recommended that he become a CI for you guys."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't think that rehabilitating criminals was your thing."

"It's not – but you still get a feeling about some people sometimes."

"And you did with Dallas?"

"Yeah. ...Doesn't matter now though, does it?"

"Suppose not. ...So what now?"

"We remain vigilant. I have the feeling Duncan will draw us to him."

"Wrong there, Castle," said Duncan from the club's wall mounted music speakers. "I already have."

Cana and Frank spun around with their guns drawn to find a target. None materialized.

"Show yourself," said Frank.

Duncan chuckled. "Yeah right. This is guerilla warfare. You should know how this game's played by now, Mr. Punisher."

"What do you want?"

"To end the world's bullshit – what else?"

"You're insane," said Cana.

"No – I've seen the light – but you can term it what you wish. ...You see, Castle, I knew you'd come here. You had to see my handiwork for yourself to better understand your so-called prey in order to defeat him, right?"

"Something like that."

"No – exactly like that."

"It's not too late to stop this, Major Duncan," said Cana.

"Ah. So, I see you've chosen to confide in the pretty detective there, Castle," said Duncan. "Excellent. ...It's now time to increase the fun factor by a good magnitude."

"Don't do this," said Frank.

"It's too late for that now, brother soldier, and you know it. We are who we choose to be. I chose to be a 'madman' and you a vigilante. That's just the way of it.

"...Now, to get down to business...I've rigged that entire area of the club with army grade explosives..."

"Bullshit; there wasn't enough time for that," said Cana.

"Castle – tell her how good we commandoes are at stuff like this."

"We can't take the chance that he didn't, Jennifer," said Frank.

"Ah – Jennifer – that doesn't sound like you at all, Castle. Whatever happened to the badass, take no prisoners, emotionally closed off Punisher I've heard so much about? It appears that Punisher has a soft spot still for someone after all. Hmm..."

"Save the psych warfare bullshit for yourself, Duncan," said Frank.

"It's not psych warfare I speak of, Castle – it's rather a strategic vulnerability that I do. I know the pretty detective there pines for you – but what of the other way around...?"

"The only one that I will ever love is my beloved wife – Maria Elizabeth Castle. And you can't take her from me. She was already taken from me – as were my children Lisa and Frank Junior. They can never be hurt again by anyone – not even you..."

As Frank said this, and with sincerity, unexpected tears traveled down his cheeks.

Cana reached for his hand, much as she had the other night. He didn't reject her action.

"You still don't want her harmed though – for she is an 'innocent,' right?" said Duncan.

"She's a cop; a sworn protector of the innocent. She knows the risks of her profession..."

"See, detective? Pining for your Punisher is a complete waste of time, wouldn't you say?"

"Go to hell."

"I've been there many times, lady, and so has this man here – but you haven't. Granted, now that women can join special forces you might just get your chance, but until you do, you can't say that to me."

"Really? I just did."

Duncan chuckled. "Yeah, you did – but you can't mean it the same way that Castle could."

Bowing his head, Frank said, "You have hostages in multiple places – and you're going to force me to choose between them and Cana – aren't you?"

Duncan laughed. "Very good, Punisher, very good."

"What's going on here?" said Cana.

"He's going to use you against me in this private war he's started to get the most sadistic thrill out of it that he can," said Frank.

"But why?"

"Because he's nuts – like you said already."

"One of the locations I've rigged with a bomb is Cana's precinct," said Duncan. "I did that in honor of you, beautiful..."

"What are the other locations?" said Frank.

"Uh-uh, Castle. That's not how this works..."

"I have to warn them," Cana said, reaching into her pocket for her mobile.

As she did so, Duncan laughed.

The reason why became apparent in a moment. All cellular traffic was being jammed in their immediate vicinity.

"Please don't do this," said Cana.

"And why not? Why should I care?"

"Don't answer him, Jennifer," said Frank. "He'll kill them all anyway."

"But we can't just not do anything..."

"We will – but he has the upper hand right now."

"Damned right, I do," said Duncan. "And don't you forget it, either."

"Tell us your demands," said Frank.

"Demands? I only have one wish right now, Castle, and that's simply to...escalate things. You know, that's the secret ingredient to any great thriller – escalation. Escalation increases the tension, and makes things that much more interesting. And right now...it's time to escalate."

Silence.

"The other is making the hero suffer – to make him work for his victories. That generates both protagonist sympathy and identification from the reader/audience. Although in your case, Castle, you're more of an antihero, wouldn't you say?"

"At least I'm not a psychopath."

Duncan laughed. "What you call psychopathy I call societal emancipation. For you see – society is the worst oppressor of all..."

A faint boom was heard a moment later.

"What was that?" said Cana.

"The end of your precinct, sweetheart..."

"Oh, god..."

"So long for now, Castle..."

The speakers were turned off. The jamming signal went away also.

Cana tried reaching her precinct – no answer.

A short moment later, a local news alert came across her mobile's screen...

Her precinct had indeed been bombed – estimated casualties were in the dozens...

In sudden shock at seeing her friends and colleagues dead or dying in her mind's eye, Cana dropped her phone and sobbed.

Frank embraced her. As he did so, he looked up at the far end of the dance hall and spotted a live explosive charge mounted on the ceiling – it powered down. Duncan hadn't been bluffing, but he hadn't wanted them dead just yet either.

And the reason for that was simple to Frank – they – the entire city – hadn't suffered enough yet. Only when it had would Duncan go further.

Frank couldn't rule out bio/chem weapons – or even a nuclear equivalent attack from Duncan. For it was all about what Duncan had said – escalation. And Duncan would escalate until he couldn't escalate anymore.

It was as simple as that.


	7. Chapter 7

7

The next morning, right at dawn, Duncan unleashed a series of nerve gas attacks on selected crowded areas of the city as it tried to get through another day despite the ongoing tragedy that had already befallen it.

The latest casualty figures suggested that dozens were dead and hundreds injured.

This latest range of attacks proved Duncan's MO – the total collapse of modern society. And he made no distinctions between anyone for anyone.

To him, everyone was now the enemy – including himself.

It also wasn't uncommon knowledge amongst some of the police that Cana and Frank had a rapport. To that end, a certain rumor had been set loose...

In an alleyway near where her precinct had been turned into rubble only hours before, Cana met up with Frank.

"The mayor wants to see you – right away," she told him.

Frank thought on it, looked up at the smoke still rising in the sky from the burning precinct, and nodded. "Okay."

XXX

City Hall

Mayor Ronald Olson had never approved of the Punisher or his mission, but he was growing desperate. The city was on the verge of chaos and severe economic distress. If it didn't pull it together, and fast, then it was going to become a downward spiral for the entire world. And as New York was the world's leading city, if global investors lost confidence, it would ripple effect to everywhere else.

The fate of one city by extension could determine the economic fate of the world – and reveal just how fragile everything truly was.

There was a knock at Olson's office door. It was his aide.

"Mr. Mayor – they're here."

Olson motioned for them to enter.

Chief of Police Patterson – along with Det. Cana...and _him_ – entered.

Olson exhaled sharply at the sight of the Punisher in his office in broad daylight.

"I'll be brief," said the mayor, focusing. "I want this maniac stopped..." He made reluctant eye contact with Punisher. "...And I need your help to do it."

"You'll have it," said Frank.

The mayor nodded. "Good – because I'm sure you can guess what's going to happen if you don't succeed – and soon."

"I do," said Frank. "The global economy could seriously destabilize and the national guard will have to be brought in to enforce martial law. This will traumatically affect the nation's psyche and confidence."

"You hit it well enough," said Olson. "You seem to understand this bastard pretty well."

"We've had similar training," said Frank. "Commandos are trained to work behind enemy lines for a long time to create as much internal havoc and mayhem as possible. This is especially true if fighting against a superior force, which commandos usually do."

Chief Patterson scoffed. "Enemy lines? This is America for Christ's sake. He's attacking his own."

"He doesn't see it that way – at least not anymore," said Frank.

"Why?" said the mayor.

Frank shook his head. "I don't know yet, but I hope to soon."

"Who cares? This wacko is mass murdering citizens and destroying our municipal infrastructure," said Patterson. He looked at Olson. "Mr. Mayor...I may not be able to ensure order in this city for much longer..."

Frank's cell phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket and read the screen.

"What is it?" said Cana.

"It's from a reliable spec ops source," said Frank. He continued reading...

"Castle..." said Patterson with annoyance, but Frank held up a hand and shook his head.

"God..." Frank muttered a moment later, and lowered the phone in his hand.

"Castle," said Patterson again, more insistent this time.

"Duncan was ordered to assault a village of Indonesians for his last official mission," said Frank.

Cana frowned. "Why?"

"There were suspicions of a major terrorist training camp there, but spec ops didn't want to take any chances on a missed opportunity like in the past. They ordered Duncan to massacre the village – and he did – and then covered up US involvement in it. He was then then ordered to fake his death and disappear until further notice."

"Which he did until he resurfaced to attack the city," said Cana.

Frank nodded. "That's right. ...There's something else – the massacre order came directly from President Kirkland."

The room was silent at that. Kirkland was also the incumbent chief executive.

"So this is all about payback because of the guilt he carries for slaughtering the village?" said Cana.

"It's payback, but it's not motivated by guilt – it's motivated by indifference and psychosis."

"Who cares why," said Patterson. "Let's just nail this bastard before he brings New York to its knees."

"He won't," said Frank.

"And how can you be so sure?" said Olson.

"Because New York's been through worse and it's still here."

"But that could change – and fast."

Frank nodded. "It could. That's why we need to act swiftly."

"Do you have a plan for stopping him?"

"I do."

"Then do it, Castle."

"I intend to."

"Frank, what about the president and this conspiracy?" said Cana.

"One problem at a time, detective," said Frank. "Let's go."

Cana and Frank exited, leaving the police chief and mayor in a state of anxiety and shock at what they'd just learned.


End file.
